Devilish Nightmares
by strictbusiness
Summary: Hate was our drive; revenge was our purpose. Being different bound us together, yet it kept us separate and apart. Confused? So are we…
1. We Are What We Are

**DISCLAIMER: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Twilight characters. **

**Full Summary: **Abandoned at birth and expelled from their previous school, 17-year-old rebellious twins Isabella and Isabelle Redblood must stick together if they want to survive a private boarding school academy, deans as foster parents, devilish pranks, and possibly forbidden relationships to boot. Can they make it through the school year or will they get kicked out before they get a second chance?

* * *

**Prologue – We Are What We Are**

Different.

It is defined in the dictionary as being unlike anything or anyone else in form, quality, amount, or nature.

Such a simple, insignificant, little word; no one would give it a second thought. For us, that one innocent word described our relationship perfectly.

From the start, we knew there was something…unusual about us.

We lived for the thrill of being able to twist a person's way of thinking into our own. We have always taken pleasure in seeing someone else squirm for pointing out our…differences.

And knowing how narrow-minded society can be, different was always not taken in a good way.

But that one fact never meant we hated being…different.

In fact, we embraced it.

Contrary to what every corporate dog, brainwashed bimbo, and oblivious dick assumed, being different had its advantages and its privileges.

We could be as mischievous as we wanted. We never got caught; it simply was not possible for us to get into trouble.

Critics tended to question and reveal the flaws in our…methods, if you will, but practice, exploitation, and bribery went a long way in this economy.

Parents were never a problem between us. Part of the reason is that we never had any to begin with.

We could be as manipulative as hell and toy with other people's affections all we wanted. Being deceitful was our passion. And we were damn good at it.

Being mysterious was our thing. It's not that we _tried_ to hide who we were, per se. It's just that people were too dense to figure out what our "deal" was.

Don't be fooled.

We are by no means criminals, druggies, sluts, mentally-insane, or any of those vulgar labels society tended to brand most individuals with.

Shit, we were just…different.

Then again, that also didn't mean we have not dabbled once or twice with such things as heroin or hotwiring cars.

But despite our various "interests and hobbies", we were labeled as trouble-makers. Nothing more, nothing less.

Although society did peg us as trouble-makers, we did have manners.

_Yes, ma'am. No, sir. Please. Thank you._

We were schemers; we were not barbaric.

It's hard to describe what we **are** exactly. We could go even more in depth, and say we were not _we _at all, more like two beings forced to become one.

The only friends we had were each other, and we liked it that way. There was less conflict and more time for scheming.

We chose to remain apart from everyone else to develop our differences and use them for our own _ingenious purposes_.

So what if we refused to follow modern-day society and form our own lifestyle?

Who's to stop us from being different? From being unusual?

Fuck it, we **were** different. Got a problem with it? Well then,

_**Get over it. **_

_**

* * *

**_

Yes, this will be a femslash story. Yes, it involves most of the Twilight characters. No, I am not quite sure of ALL the pairings yet, only some of them. This story is still a work in progress. The plot will unfold in the next couple chapters. Review, comment, critique.


	2. The Next Michelangelo's

**The full summary posted in the prologue may change depending on the progression of the plot. Some pairings are still undecided. Thank you for the reviews, alerts, favorites, etc. They are appreciated.**

_Italics – Telepathically Sent Thoughts_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 1 – The Next Michelangelo's **

"One final spray-on touch, twin, and our masterpiece will be complete."

"I have to say, this was a much better way to spend our time than sitting around in homeroom listening to Mrs. Ward going on and on about bloody hell knows what."

"I must agree with you on that one, twin. Not about Mrs. Ward, although I do have similar thoughts. No wonder she's called the "warden" when she teaches homeroom. We mine-as-well become prisoners and stay shackled to our desks. It wouldn't make much of a difference anyway. But as I was saying, we have simply outdone ourselves this time."

"And to think this only took two hours and six cans of multi-colored quick-drying spray paint from that hardware store down by the square. I think this is a new personal best."

"It's a shame we won't be taking credit for our work, oh devious twin of mine. I'm actually quite fond of our artwork. But then again, three weeks of afterschool _and_ weekend detention with the headmaster from hell seems less and less appealing by the second. "

"I'm with you on that one. But, let's head out before Coach Watson sees us. It's bad enough that we got suspended last month for "back-sassing" that secretary in the administration office, but if we get caught experimenting with the school colors on his gym wall, we're not going to make it to Winter Break."

"Alright, twin. And by the way, I'm still pretty annoyed with that secretary. I mean, all we _did_ was try to show her a more conservative way of dressing so she wouldn't look like those slutty totties hanging out around the pub down the street. Although I wouldn't be surprised since she seems to eye-fuck the headmaster every time he walks by."

As we backtracked our way out the emergency exit doors to our separate first period classes, AP Physics and AP Sociology, which were conveniently right next door to each other _and_ down the hall from the gym, the two of us discussed our latest escapade (Operation: Makeover Mural) in hushed voices.

Although not as ostentatious as we had originally hoped, our spray-painted mural was a much better adornment compared to the dull, beige-colored walls that were once the gymnasium walls of Northern Valley Preparatory Academy. It was twenty feet by twenty feet of pure genius.

Don't mistake our alterations as meaningless graffiti created by misunderstood teenagers.

No. It was not like that at all. It was, in no way, meaningless. Yes, we guess you _could_ say it was technically "considered" graffiti, but we prefer to think of it as…a pre-Renaissance phase. You hear about people going through phases all the time on the radio and the telly.

After all, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel was not just some willy-nilly picture that Michelangelo painted so he could have a reason to get bitch-slapped by the Pope or the Cardinal.

Although we're pretty sure that it's an offense against God for a church figure to "bitch-slap" anyone, we bet they would make an exception for us.

Back to the point, we do feel misunderstood. It's not that we necessarily _try_ to cause trouble; it's just that we're too good at it to stop.

It's kind of like a drug. You can survive without it. You'd probably be better off anyway, but why quit something that makes you happy?

Our concept is simple: what's the point of having a gift when you can't share it with the rest of the world?

The mural was a symbol of our shared hatred and loathing for being forced to go to this school. Our foster parents thought it would help us grow out of our "mischievous" nature.

They consider us a challenge rather than their new kids. In short, it was a kind of rebellion on our part.

But you have to gives us some credit. Our mural was beautiful. We made a complex labyrinth of swirls, bends, and loops using different colors, blends, and shades of the spectrum (mostly ink blue, forest green, and violet purple) that came together to form a bleeding heart.

It looked three-dimensional, and we were proud of it despite what we know could happen to us if the staff figures out we were the ones responsible.

As we reached our lockers to retrieve our books for class, I handed my twin a hall pass so we wouldn't get into more trouble than we were already in. I already had one for myself hidden in the inside pocket of my blazer.

"Where did you get the hall pass, twin? As I recall, we came to school this morning an hour before the doors were supposed to open to complete our project, not to mention skipping homeroom. Were you caught by a teacher?"

"No need to worry, twin. I swiped these earlier this week from Mrs. Wilkinson. I was feeling very devious during study hall and thought we might need them during one of our operations."

"You know, twin, if we were not such an ingenious pair, this school would have no fun at all."

"Agreed. But we really must be careful. If we get expelled from Valley Prep, that will be the fourth school in two years. The social worker down at the institute will have our heads if they have to relocate us again to another family."

"Alright, twin. From now until Winter Break, which is roughly two weeks away, we'll just lay low and thro w off any suspicion towards us. Then we'll start back up again when the coast is clear. But honestly, twin, this place can be so uptight and strict. No wonder we're trying to get out."

This place _did_ need to loosen up some. Other than the bleak colors and brick walls surrounding the high school, this place was extremely uptight. Their navy blazer/jacket, white dress shirt, navy tie, navy skirts/slacks, and black dress shoes combination was getting very old; they have a daily uniform check for God's sake.

It's not that this place is ALL bad. The scenery is pretty nice: trees, bushes, shrubs, all that. But besides the fact that all the folks are uptight, they care more about their buildings and businesses than nature itself. It seems there is construction every weekend.

We used to have this lovely field where we would relax in the afternoons, away from the stress of homework and foster parents, but the governor of our town decided to replace the wild grass with cement and the forest trees with solid columns. It didn't even seem like they cared about all the homes of the woodland creatures they were destroying.

Although we aren't exactly environmentalist types, we did care that our hidden place was being demolished by bulldozers and drills. Which is exactly why we "borrowed" all the extension cords and power batteries from the construction equipment and recycled them for some extra cash. Not that we needed any.

But, those construction workers were **not** happy when they discovered that their precious power tools had been tampered with during the middle of the night when no one was around.

Wonder who got their knickers in a twist. Oh, wait. _We_ did.

But, that is only _part_ of the reason why we are choosing to be a pain in their arses.

We wanted to get out of this hellhole because these snobby prep-school kids are getting very annoying to be around. All they ever talked about is who did what with whom behind the auditorium, whether their slacks made their behind look big, and if the new student English teacher was still single.

A person can only take so much nonsense at a time.

That's why we decided to lighten things up a bit by using the gym walls as an oversized canvas for our semester art project.

In fact, it was only a couple of hours ago that we had decided to go ahead with this "remodeling" plan. Although this was our idea, we had not thought of doing it until this morning.

You could even say that we were _encouraged_ to explore our artistic side by our somewhat dense foster parents and teachers.

* * *

**Earlier That Morning…**

"ISABELLA MARIE AND ISABELLE ELIZABETH REDBLOOD, I SUGGEST YOU TWO GET YOUR ARSES DOWN THOSE STAIRS IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS IF YOU WANT TO LIVE TO SEE TOMORROW!"

What a perfect way to wake up. Nothing beats having your psychotic bitch of a foster mother scream bloody murder at you at 6 in the morning. You'd think Twin and I beat up a priest or something for her to yell at us this early.

Don't open your eyes. Don't even acknowledge her very annoying presence. Maybe then she'll go away.

HA. And maybe Twin will move to a convent while I grow up to become a saint. What a load of–

"I SWEAR, IF BOTH OF YOU ARE NOT DOWN HERE BY THE TIME I'M DONE GETTING READY FOR MY MORNING TEA WITH THE LADIES, YOU'RE BOTH GROUNDED UNTIL YOU GRADUATE COLLEGE!"

Holy shit on a shingle, that woman has got one mean set of lungs. You'd think she would turn blue or something from all the noise she's making.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the rustling of bed sheets beside me and a very long string of curses and profanities soon afterwards.

I glanced up from my place on our shared bed to see Twin, clad in a loose grey tank top and boxers, walk over to the door and open it just enough for her head to poke through to call out, "Coming, Mother." She then proceeded to slam the door before our mother could raise hell for the third time this morning.

"Damn, what the hell does she want from us?" Twin was generally a morning person, as was I, but having your foster parent shriek at you for no apparent reason was just not what we considered a good start to the day.

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe she wants us all to sit around the kitchen table and talk about our feelings," I sarcastically said as I got up to take a quick shower. Mine as well make the most of our early morning wake-up call.

Twin snorted as she rummaged through our drawers, "Yeah, when that happens I will personally get down on my hands and knees and praise the Lord while singing 'Kumbaya' at the top of my lungs."

As you can see, Twin and I had a certain love/hate relationship going on with our "mother". It was mostly hate towards her making our lives hell, but we did love when she left us alone.

As soon as both of us were showered and dressed in our school uniform, we took the stairs two at a time only to be met at the bottom by our foster mother, Cynthia.

"What is it with you two? Just because you two are twins doesn't mean you have to be next to each other all the time." Cynthia sneered as she watched us walk side-by-side into the kitchen for a quick snack before class.

Twin and I shared a knowing look before simultaneously glaring at her like she just ran over our puppy. When she met our eyes, she looked genuinely scared for her life.

Our relationship as twins has always been a touchy subject to talk about with others. We had our reasons for being together most of the time, but at least we have the decency to not blurt it out to the world.

"Anyway…" she began warily, "you two need to become more active in school. It's always the same thing with you. Every day you come home from classes, lock yourselves up in your room, turn up your blasted music, and do God knows what in there. You two need to get your act together. The ladies in the Book Club are starting to question my parenting skills. And the last thing I need is Martha giving me the number to her family psychiatrist and–"

After that, we just tuned her out. But as we ate our breakfast of cold cereal and apple juice, both of us must have experienced our twin telepathy again, because as I looked up at Twin, she had a devious smirk on her face which mirrored my own.

_Are you thinking what I know you're thinking?_ I asked in my mind even though I already knew the answer.

_Oh yeah… _She mentally responded while nodding her head.

Both of us grinned at each other before grabbing our backpacks and heading out to get some supplies for our newest project.

* * *

And that's how we basically ended up tweaking the school colors in our gym. We were the masterminds, but our mother was our "inspiration".

_Come on, Twin. The late bell already rang. We're going to be tardy._ My twin urged me to hurry just as the doors to our classes were being closed.

The moment we stepped inside, we heard a dreaded voice behind us and felt a heavy hand grab each of our shoulders, pulling us into the hall, away from the safety of our classes.

"Going somewhere?"

* * *

**Next: **Failure Is NOT An Option


	3. Failure Is NOT An Option

This chapter is a filler, but it is somewhat graphic. I will introduce the Cullens soon. Please be patient. This story will be femslash, I can promise you that much. This story will have vampires/werewolves/etc. By the way, the song in this chapter is "Your Guardian Angel" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

_**Enjoy.**_ (As a side note, how was _Eclipse_?)

* * *

**Chapter 2: Failure Is NOT An Option**

It's official.

The Valley Prep school authorities just _love_ to fuck with us and our problems.

Actually…scratch that.

_**Life**_just loves to fuck with us, in general.

How else could someone explain the fact that the principal just so happened to be walking by our classes right after we committed one of the most insane pranks of our entire careers?

The universe is just **completely** against us.

The twins were definitely not happy as they sulked in the uncomfortable wooden chairs right outside the principal's office. No, they were livid.

Not only were they forced to skip the rest of their classes thus having piles of homework to do later (they were going to do that regardless, but it's still irritating to have someone _tell_ you to do it), but now they were going to have to face the wrath of an annoyed principal, two furious "parents", and possibly a surprise visit from their social services adviser.

The twins knew this whole mess was their fault, but both were too stubborn and rebellious to admit to it. All they could do was scowl at the floor with their arms crossed against their chests. At least this way, no one would dare question them.

_Things could not possibly get any worse._ Twin thought as she mentally cringed at the sight of Mrs. I'm An Airhead and Mr. So Sexually Frustrated yelling their asses off at them from dawn till dusk as soon as they got the chance after this parent-teacher meeting.

The twins looked up to see their father slam the front office door closed and stomp his way over to the principal's office.

"What the bloody hell did you do this time?" He seethed while shoving us into the awaiting chairs in Principal Wilkins' office.

"Ahem, Walter? If I may, your girls are suspected of defacing our gym walls. Ladies, could you please tell us why you decided to vandalize Valley Prep school property?" Although Wilkins' glare _was_ intimidating, we were pretty much immune to it.

_Could you pretty please kiss our asses? My god, they are such twits. Ready, Twin? _My sister was always the short-tempered one, and her thoughts could be very entertaining in these situations.

Twin and I stood up, getting ready to lie our butts off just like we normally do.

"We honestly have no idea why we are here. And we certainly don't know what you are ranting about, headmaster sir…"

"…and even if we did know what you're going on about, it would make sense that we would not tell you if we had any part in it…whatever _**it**_ is."

It is a known fact that having other people finish your sentences is the easiest way to annoy others. It also helped that we were smirking at them like they were the two biggest morons in the world. Which they were.

"So, in fact, you cannot prove a thing…" I casually threw my arm over Twin's shoulder as she snaked hers around my waist.

"…and even if you could…"

"…although we already know you can't…" This school seemed uptight and fancy, but we figured out the first day that it was too stuck up to bother installing any security cameras or locked gates. That was how we got inside the school at 7 in the morning. A simple metal paperclip can do wonders to a rusted key lock.

"There is no possible way to tell that this incident was caused by us."

"And if truth be told, there is no way you can prove that we were even there." Wilkins' and Daddy Dearest's faces were starting to turn the loveliest shade of purple from hearing our smartass attitudes. Shoving that type of information in a person's face can really do some damage their ego.

"So if you will please excuse us…"

"…we really need to be somewhere. Other than here."

"Good day, headmaster." We chorused together out of habit as we strutted our way out the door to the parking lot.

* * *

"They did WHAT now? And you let them walk out of there just like _that_? I can-NOT be-LIEVE this!" Ooo, someone's in trouble. Listening to Mrs. Airhead scream at her husband was by far the funniest thing we have ever heard.

As we were in our room listening to them raging at each other downstairs, we failed to notice the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs towards us.

"GIRLS!" Our father roared as he threw our bedroom door open. My sister and I were sitting on the floor, and it barely missed us as it slammed against the wall, knocking off various books on our shelves. His whole figure was shaking and pulsing with rage.

"You-you bitches! You two are, by far, the WORST fucking foster kids ever! No wonder your father ditched you and killed himself. He probably couldn't stand to see your ugly ass faces everyday!"

"Oh, sure! Blame your sad pathetic problems on us! You think we actually _**want**_ to be here? We would rather be with our own dad than live here in this hellhole!" I was on my feet yelling at him, trembling hands by my sides trying to control my anger. I had had enough of his all-mighty attitude, and it really irritated me that he actually had the audacity to waltz in here and start guilt-tripping us.

But, I guess my little rant really hit home because that was when he snapped.

I'm ashamed to say it, but I was too busy shouting at him to notice his left hand twitch by his side. I was too angry at him to see what he was about to do. I completely ignored the signs.

His controlling attitude, his anger, his impulsiveness, his hands constantly clenching by his sides.

That's the one thing I regret. I didn't fucking _see_ it.

Because the next thing I knew, Twin was sprawled on the floor with her hands cradling her cheek, and the bastard was holding his hand up, eyes bulging at the sight of the small layer of a dark red, sticky substance splattered across his palm.

It was as if time was messing with our heads. Fast-forwarding through all the chaos and focusing only on the pain. One minute, we were yelling at each other letting our emotions reign. Then all of a sudden, she was on the floor in pain, while he was staring at his hand like it was someone else's.

I just couldn't take it anymore. Foster home after fucking foster home. Every time it looked like we reached freedom, we were sucked back in.

I can't really explain what I was feeling. I just got so…angry. It was like there was this intense fire inside me trying to get out. It felt like my mind was going to explode unless I let go of my emotions and followed my…instincts? Was that what I was feeling?

Honestly, I didn't have a fucking clue.

So without a second thought, I punched him. He immediately crumpled into a pathetic heap on the floor, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. I just kept beating his face with my hands until I could barely make out his eyes from his ears.

By the time I was satisfied, my hands were just as stained with his blood as he was with my sister's. In my head, I was disgusted with myself. I was just as abusive and weak as he was. I was a monster. But I was too out of control to care.

He _**hurt**_ her.

_**That**_ was all I cared about.

He was still too shocked from slapping my sister to put up a real fight so I easily kicked him out of our room. But I didn't trust him. I never had. To be safe, I locked the door and put a chair in front of the doorknob so he couldn't get back in.

I didn't care about him or his wife or anybody at that moment. All I could think about was the scared look on my sister's face as she lowered her hands from her cheek and saw the blood covering them.

She looked so frightened that, at first, I didn't know what to do. So I did what our real dad did whenever we were scared. I just knelt on the floor and cradled her in my arms, rocking her back and forth. We were both bloody, but we barely noticed the rusty, salty stench.

She had her face buried in my neck while I stroked her hair. Then out of nowhere, I started softly singing our childhood lullaby in her ear.

_I will never let you fall  
__I'll stand up with you forever__  
I'll be there for you through it all  
Even if saving you sends me to heaven…_

It was a sad song, but it was special. Our dad used to sing it to us every night just as we were about to fall asleep. It was the one thing we never forgot from our childhood. We never talked about him to others, but during nights like these, when we felt lost or needed someone who would understand, we sang it together.

To others, it would seem depressing, but to my sister and me, it gave us hope. That was probably why it came to my mind that night as we were sitting in our dark room, holding onto each other.

We were hoping. Hoping we would forget everything and just remember. Remember when we were still little, and our dad was still alive.

As I continued singing in her ears, my thoughts shifted to that day. The day when our dad left us.

"_Charlie? Where is he? CHARLIE!" _

_By the time we had arrived at the hospital, the doctors were convinced that it was too late. There was nothing they could do. _

_We had ignored them; all we wanted was to see our dad. Their denial had only made us more determined._

_I remember how we shoved our way past the doctors and burst through the double doors into the ER. There were nurses and medical staff all around Charlie as he lay on the cold operating table. _

_We could barely recognize him. _

_He had gashes and bruises all over his body. His police uniform was shredded to pieces, and there was a gigantic wound running across his chest. I remember thinking that the blood would never stop. It just kept flowing out of him like a crimson river. Horrible image, isn't it?_

_But even near death, he still had the strength to smile at us. Charlie was always a fighter, but right now, he just looked so…defeated. Both of us had tears streaming down our face. I didn't need to read my sister's thoughts to know she was feeling just as helpless as I was. All we could do was stare. _

"_H-hey, girls." Our dad's usual baritone voice seemed so small and feeble. It scared us. _

"_I g-got myself into a big mess, h-haven't I?" Charlie was trying so hard to lighten up the situation, but he was starting to have trouble breathing as he chuckled at his own joke._

"_You k-know, even as little kids, y-you two were…a-always so close to e-each other. Just l-like now. I was… s-so proud of how you s-stood up…f-for each other," Charlie's voice was breaking and he was coughing up what little blood he had left onto a small shred of his shirt._

"_I w-want you to p-protect…each o-other. R-remember, I'll…a-always…b-be watching over… you t-two." Both of us laid our heads on his chest, holding onto each of his hands. The room was empty now except for us and Charlie. Without all the doctors and staff, the room was quiet. The silence was deafening; it seemed to echo on the walls. _

_His breathing was becoming shallow and forced. I knew we only had a couple minutes left with him. We had so much to say to him, so many questions we wanted to ask. We never got a chance to speak to him about it. _

_As we cried, I heard a faint whisper just as his body stopped moving. _

"_I-I love y-you. Be h-happy…" _

_I'm still not sure whether I had imagined those words. I couldn't feel anything at that point. Nurses had appeared and guided us out of the room before I could say anything else. As we turned our heads to look at Charlie one last time, Twin and I whispered four words, hoping he could hear them._

"_I love you, too…"_

As depressing as it might be, this moment was probably the closest I have ever felt to our dad.

We learned later that his police car had hit a tree and exploded. The noises had most likely startled a big animal, and it attacked the nearest thing, Charlie.

During Charlie's funeral, his death felt like a cruel, sick joke. I remember telling myself that he was going to appear from a dark corner any minute, as alive and well as he was before the accident. My sister and I were only thirteen when he died. We didn't want to accept that he was gone. His death didn't seem…real.

After the service, we were both so distant from each other. We rarely talked, and when we did it seemed so…mechanical. Like our bodies were there, but our minds were somewhere else. A week went by before it was just too much for Twin to handle.

I had caught her in the bathroom as she was about to cut herself with a jagged razor. I had wrestled the blade from her and thrown it out the window when we finally broke down and cried. I'm not sure who started to weep first, but at that point, it didn't really matter.

We cried for our dad. We cried for each other. We cried because we couldn't deal with the pain any longer. We just…cried. That was the first time we accepted that our dad was gone. And he wasn't coming back.

Even now, I hated to admit it. Our dad was dead. My sister would have been dead, too. And I would have been alone. But she wasn't. And I'm not. I still have her.

I was startled to hear a muffled sound coming from my sister. It sounded so familiar, but it hadn't happened since our dad's death. After a second of listening to her, I recognized the sound.

For the first time in years, she started to cry. She was sobbing into my neck while clutching my shirt, too afraid to let go.

_I'll never leave you, I promise._ I would never know if she heard me or not, so I just held her tighter. As I whispered that one sentence into her ear, my body felt like it was starting to shut down from exhaustion. My sister's shallow breathing had returned to normal, but I knew she was probably feeling like hell twice over. We just sat in silence, the moonlight shining through our window.

While I was staring at the sky, I felt something falling down my face. I brought my hand up to brush against my face, and that was when I finally noticed that my tears had mixed in with his blood and my sister's. I was crying dark, red blood.

It was heartbreaking.

That image of us sitting on the ground in the dark corners of our room is still burned in my memory.

I hated the bastard for hitting her. I hated his wife for trying to control us. But most of all, I hated myself for being the cause of her pain.

I will never forgive myself for letting that happen. _I_ was the older sibling. I _should_ have been watching out for us. I _should_ have been protecting her. But I didn't. I failed her. I failed myself. I failed our dad.

And then I realized something.

_Things were about to get much, __**much**__ worse._

_

* * *

_Questions, comments, compliments? Please review.


End file.
